


Cast Down Your Spears

by Anonymous



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Gen, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Rape Aftermath, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13071939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A disastrous excursion to Jotunheim leaves Thor and Loki with wounds that don't show and a secret best kept hidden.





	Cast Down Your Spears

It had been a spell, most likely. Not one of Loki's; his brother's hands had been on full display as he had tried to explain how he hadn't in fact followed Thor to Jotunheim, but had coincidentally traveled to the dangerous realm for reasons of his own. Maybe it had instead been the glacier collapsing under their feet, and Thor's mind rearranging the fall into nothing but the blow at the end of it.  
  
Whatever it was, it felt like being hit by a mountain.  
  
When he came to, he was lying flat on his stomach. His limbs were numb, and the inside of his mouth felt like it was covered in hair. Neither the ice under him nor the sound of approaching footsteps were enough to stir his paralyzed body.  
  
He heard Loki slurring out a _"Don't"_ the same moment fingers which even through his cape and armor felt like icicles grabbed him and pushed him more firmly against the ice. That rattled his mind back to action, but his body remained limp and useless and only grew heavier as the cold spread into the flesh of his shoulder. The most he managed was to turn his head to the side to witness several pairs of Jotun feet pointed away from him, clustered around something green only barely in his field of vision but which could only be the edge of his brother's cape. Five or ten of them altogether, assuming he was seeing most of them. He could defeat them if only—  
  
He had little time to think before his assailant added more weight to his back, and soon those cold fingers were working on the clasps of his armor. Couldn't they stab through it? Or else bash his head in and be done with it? What was the use of stripping him down and allowing him the opportunity to regain his strength, no matter how remote?  
  
He only guessed the truth after Loki let out a strangled, wordless cry, followed by unsavory grunts presumably originating from one of the Jotun. Even then, he might have assumed mundane violence if the foe on him, finally done moving his armor from the way, hadn't moved onto tearing away his clothes.  
  
An ancient custom to emasculate vanquished foes, with the intention to shame them to meekness. Loki had once brought it up during a long night of drinks and merriment. Thor remembered laughing at the time, but not why it had been amusing then. Nor did he recall any news the Jotun still used such methods, but the questing fingers on his skin sending chills down his spine left little room for imagination.  
  
The push inside him, dry and abrupt, hurt much worse than the hand grasping his shoulder had. Like a jagged blade splitting him in half, radiating coldness all the way to his chest. So cold it ought to have put a stop to his heart, but it kept stubbornly beating, leaving him to wire his jaw shut and focus on the pain itself to push aside its cause. Pain was familiar. Pain was natural. Pain was something he could pay back a hundredfold.  
  
After a small eternity, it was over. The pressure on him lifted as the Jotun stepped away, leaving him gutted and exhausted, likely bleeding, but vengeful above all. He sought out Mjölnir with his eyes, doing his best to drown out the noises Loki was making, ones that had begun to speak of more than just pain, with thoughts of battles past and one swiftly approaching.  
  
His right hand, still shaking, twitched at his command.  
  
When the second Jotun came to claim its spoils of war, Thor was ready. He twisted his upper body so his burning eyes met the Jotun's head-on as he called for his hammer.  
  
Mjölnir had languished unseen in a cluster of ice some fifty feet behind his assailant's back. So much for that Jotun.  
  
The following minutes were a blur of screams and snapping bones: the remaining Jotun had been so occupied with their other quarry that by the time they mounted a resistance, Thor had thinned their numbers down to three. He crushed their skulls after felling them, just to be sure, and only then knelt at the side of the only survivor, lying motionless on his back. His brother.  
  
His brother, whose skin was as blue as the corpses strewn around him.

 

* * *

  
  
They would never speak of it, to anyone. Those were the only words they had exchanged on the endless way home.  
  
Thor had kept his end of the bargain, holding his mouth firmly shut and diving headlong into training instead. That soon came to a halt, by the All-Father's command no less. He said he understood accidents happened on the training grounds, but after Fandral broke his arm the same day Volstagg broke his nose and Sif injured her leg, and all incidents had Thor in common, he was less willing to believe in accidents and more demanding that Thor control his temper. How a leader had to remain his own master no matter the circumstances, and as long as Thor was acting like a temperamental child, he couldn't dream of handing Asgard's rule over to him. In fact, as he refused to even explain himself, Father couldn't see him as anything but a sullen adolescent, and would treat him accordingly.  
  
Mother was gentler, but no less insistent. What was amiss? There was no need to pretend otherwise, she could always tell. Loki had been subdued as well, was it something to do with him? If only he would speak to her, if not for her sake or the sake of what furniture he hadn't destroyed yet, then at least for his own.  
  
It was after months of prodding that he spat out that he knew what Loki was, hoping the revelation would appear as his only concern. Mother looked at him in silence, then simply nodded, and explained calmly where his brother had come from, and how he was family and would always be. Like Thor didn't know that. Like it had been something she had been waiting to tell him rather than something kept away as a shameful secret. He couldn't meet his mother's eyes as she said, was that where all this anger stemmed from. Loki was no different from how he was before, so would he be willing to speak to him again?  
  
He left without giving an answer to that, nor to the question about how he had discovered his brother's heritage in the first place.  
  
In his defense, Loki avoided him in equal measure. He had reverted to his natural shape through a single touch — no, not natural, not original, just familiar — stricken and withdrawn, dragging himself quietly behind Thor only to vanish as soon as they crossed the Bifrost. Thor had only spied him during mealtimes since then, and rarely at that. Beyond that, there was one bizarre occasion where he had found him speaking with Heimdall of all people, falling silent and skulking away as soon as he saw they had company. Heimdall was a man of honor and unwilling to divulge any details about their conversation, but Thor was left with the distinct impression Loki had spent much time lately traveling to other worlds.  
  
It was only a month later that Loki disappeared entirely.  
  
The search was soon declared futile, but continued nevertheless: they couldn't forsake a prince of Asgard quite so easily. Quite.  
  
In a bout of mindlessness, Thor joined the search. A challenging hunt to keep his mind occupied, never mind if he didn't wish the prey to be discovered. Only in some way, he did wish him found. He missed looking at his brother's face, even if that face no longer sported clever eyes and mischievous smiles and reminded him of shameful things best cast into the darkest pits of afterlife. He missed his sly comments, even his nastiest pranks.  
  
He soon spent all his time scouring the worlds, finding not as much as a clue. He had been driven half mad by the futility of it all when Heimdall relented. He had known all along. He had known, but had sworn to reveal it only to one other, and only after a certain time.  
  
Thor had never cared to learn much about the Jotun, but the moment Heimdall told him how long he had waited and thought of how many months had passed altogether, the pieces fell in place.

 

* * *

 

He arrived too late. Or perhaps right on time.  
  
Loki looked much like he had in Asgard, only filthier and drenched in sweat, his clothes askew. He lay very still on a sorry excuse of a cot covered in mismatched cast-off bedding, so far removed from the luxuries he had enjoyed in Asgard. His eyes were firmly shut.  
  
The naked infant curled into a tiny ball on his stomach was Jotun, through and through.  
  
Thor paused. His hand had instinctively clenched around Mjölnir's shaft, and he forced it to relax. The rage that had been his constant companion since the fateful day flared up regardless.  
  
The baby was squalling, pausing only to nuzzle futilely at Loki's flat chest. For a moment, Thor wondered exactly how Jotun reproduction and child-rearing worked, before deciding it was the very last thing he wished to know.  
  
Still. A leader had to remain his own master no matter the circumstances.  
  
He placed Mjölnir on the floor and took the child. From the first touch, it changed shape, more malleable than wax. In a moment's time, it could have passed for a regular baby in Asgard. Its face was red with effort to be heard. Its head had patches of bristling black hair. It was a girl.  
  
Its head was so small Thor could have crushed it simply by enclosing it in his fist and squeezing till the skull gave way.  
  
It had a smudge of dirt on its cheek, or something he chose to think of as dirt. He wiped it away with his thumb.  
  
Something shifted at his feet. He looked down to see Loki's eyes were open and trained on him.  
  
He said, I saw what you were thinking.  
  
He said, I would never.  
  
He said, why not? It's not of your blood.  
  
He said, she is family.  
  
Family, he repeated flatly, but for the first in what felt like a lifetime, Thor saw a shadow of Loki's former smile.

 

* * *

  
  
They passed the infant as a bastard Loki had fathered somewhere in Alfheim. A shameful thing, but much preferable to the truth.  
  
The story was generally accepted with some ribbing, most of it good-natured. Which warrior didn't have a few love-children across the nine worlds? If anything, Loki had finally become a man.  
  
Father had given all three of them a knowing look, but welcomed the child nevertheless. Mother doted on her, but Thor had seen the doubt in her eyes, those eyes that saw much deeper than the skin, the suspicion that the child was her grand-daughter not through one, but two sons. A suspicion that only cut deeper every time her sons lied about the mother's identity. Loki's excuses were especially clever and compelling, but for once not even his silvery tongue could dislodge the sadness in Frigga's eyes.  
  
Still, she said nothing. The child grew up in court, quickly proving herself lively, mischievous, and quite adept in sorcery. Her hair lightened from its birth black to a dark brown, but stayed mercifully far from Thor's blond: no doubt it wouldn't allay Mother's suspicions, but least it wouldn't spur them on. She was ultimately given the prosaic name Sigrid.  
  
Thor often looked on as she ran through the corridors, laughing at whatever game she had invented for the day, and tried to see hints of her father's nature in her. He only ever saw Loki's.  
  
One evening, the All-Father commented favorably on his improved maturity. That having seen how patiently he dealt with his niece, he could finally fall into Odinsleep while leaving Asgard into his care. In fact, he would likely do so soon.  
  
After that, he found himself alone in the courtyard, staring at the stars. As years went by, it was easier to forget anything had happened, and easier to believe no-one would ever find out. Loki had kept his word, would have to keep his word if only not to drag himself down with him. Even the shadow Sigrid cast on him grew smaller by the day as she became less of a reminder of things best forgotten and more simply herself.  
  
She was there, as if summoned by his thoughts, sitting next to him and kicking her feet in the air.  
  
He said, isn't it past your bedtime?  
  
She said, do you know where my mother is?  
  
He said, that is something you should ask your father instead.  
  
She said, he said it was a secret between him and your Uncle Thor and I should ask you.  
  
He thought, you bastard.  
  
He said, that's why I can't tell you, either. It's a secret between brothers.  
  
She pouted and looked so much like Loki had as a child Thor couldn't help but smile. He asked, does it truly matter?  
  
She said, of course it does. Everyone else has a mother, and I want one too.  
  
He asked, do you know the stars, and so he showed her the constellations as far as he could remember them, and thought if there was one person who could find out, if there was one person who might make him forsake his promise and bring the matter up with Loki, if one day they were ready to tell the truth to one other person, it should be to the one good thing to have come out of it all.


End file.
